


selfie

by fatcr0w



Series: Before you arrive [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, leon's championship win, no beta we die like men, raihan pov, really just a little kid learning to cope, stupidly in a field of commas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatcr0w/pseuds/fatcr0w
Summary: an elongated headcanon about the origin of Raihan's post-loss selfie habit
Relationships: Dande | Leon & Kibana | Raihan
Series: Before you arrive [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612102
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	selfie

**Author's Note:**

> Ever been on a field when fans rush it? It's...wild and honestly not safe for a ten-year-old. Also, I have two cousins who are Raihan's height so I'm referencing some of that.

It had been a historic match. For the first time in Galar history, the reigning champion did not make it to the finals to defend his title. He'd been completely routed by a small child without even managing to KO the young challenger's team. 

Almost as big of a surprise, the gym leaders who filled out the other half of the bracket were similarly decimated by a talented young dragon trainer. All bets were off, not a single one of the incumbent leaders could handle either of these two trainers. It was unheard of in Galar, no, in _any_ region. Champions and elites from across the world moved plans and pulled strings to make it to Wyndon stadium to watch this historic event. 

No one wanted to miss the battle of the century. 

And what a battle it was. The competition was neck and neck, with experienced broadcasters and analysts barely able to cope with the twists and turns. 

Were the Galar rules truly limited to the known movesets? Was Raihan really only eleven? He had the height and tactical skills of a young adult! How did a ten-year-old get a hold of a Charizard? Moreover, how did a ten-year-old _command the respect_ of a Charizard?

Sentiments were split on who would win. Nails were bitten across the region as each trainer's pokemon KO-ed one after the other until only two were left. The stadium held its breath as the pokemon traded moves, their stamina flagging. The championship title balanced on the edge of a coin and only had to tip slightly one way or the other. 

Who would win? Who would strike the lucky blow? 

Raihan stood speechless as Charizard's last desperate flame connected with Duraludon's steel chest. Straight on. A critical hit. She let out a groan and collapsed in a shower of smoke and sparks to her regular form. 

His almost year-long journey to become Galar's champion was over. 

The crowd went wild, shaking the foundations and nearly bringing the place down in their fervor. The announcer was screaming into the mic, barely able to contain his decorum. 

Raihan smiled ruefully. He'd dreamed of this moment for years. But the chant was not his name. The eleven-year-old pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to hold back tears, crooking up the corners against the weight of the world. Just like he'd practiced. 

He'd considered this outcome before. Though they'd only just met at the beginning of the season, he'd been with Leon every step of the way during this challenge. There was no one in their cohort (no one in Galar apparently) who could hold a candle to either of them on the battlefield. Somehow, he'd always known it would come to this. 

He was pretty smart according to his teachers. A good tactician prepares for every outcome, even the worst one. Especially the worst one. 

The Galar crowd was just as rowdy as expected. Heaving and flowing over the safety gates onto the pitch, overcoming the security wall in a sea of exuberance. 

One foot in front of the other, Raihan jogged towards half-field. Leon had given him the battle of his young life and he at least wanted to acknowledge that much. Leon was running as well, his rival's golden eyes sparkling even brighter than he'd ever seen them before. He was saying something but Raihan couldn't hear it over the sounds of the crowd.

Then his view was blocked. 

Paparazzi had already encircled Leon, their camera flashes blinding even from behind. The Chairman, ex-champion, and their entourage were barely able to pierce through the sea of humanity to reach the young boy and Raihan, despite his already impressive height, was swallowed up. 

Pressed into the center of a moving crowd, he felt suffocated. When curious eyes identified him and dismissed him in the same second, he felt isolated. 

Dismissed. 

In this moment his height was a blessing. He was an elementary school kid but at nearly two meters high, people assumed he was an adult if they didn't look closely at his round cherubic face. They were too concentrated on the light at the center of the crowd to worry, moving to let him pass in the opposite direction until he stumbled out onto the edge of the pitch.

Everyone was turned away as though he was invisible, leaving him completely alone.

Again. 

As the thought crashed over him, there was a buzz in his pocket. Rotom zipped out and booted up with a smile.

_Congratulations! Looks like you finished your battle, do you want to take a picture for Pokegram?_

"Thanks Rotom, but as you can see I didn't win." 

The ghost pokemon swiveled around, its little eyes were a bit confused. Rotom wasn't a battle pokemon. It knew of the concept of battles in the vaguest sense of the word, the difference between win and loss meant very little. It zipped around him for an inspection to see if it could find any "didn't win" on him. 

Having inspected the trainer, it found no anomalies and zipped back in front, spinning blissfully on its axis. 

_You look great! Do you want to take a picture as a keepsake?_

Time seemed to slow down for Raihan as he saw himself on Rotom's screen. The ghost pokemon had pulled up the few selfies he'd taken on his journey as examples. Keepsakes. There he was in the desert hugging Trapinch after spending days in the blistering heat searching for her, another picking up Duraludon on a dare at camp one night, a third practicing rolls with Roggenrola, and even a surprise measuring his height against Silicobra. 

The weights holding down his smile seemed to lighten just a bit. Rotom perked up, recognizing the beginnings of a photo opportunity. 

He didn't have the love of Galar or the attention of millions, but he still had Rotom. Even without the trophy he still had memories. Even though he'd lost, he wasn't alone again. He'd never ever be alone again. 

He still had his pokemon.

He still had Rotom watching him, just like it had every step of the way. Win, lose or draw, his pokemon wouldn't leave him in the cold. Maybe he didn't have a trophy, but he still had his friends.

Win, lose or draw he'd cherish the memory.

The young trainer unhooked his Pokeball sling and hung them over his shoulders so that all of the mismatched pokeballs were in view. He then leaned into the dragon pose he'd practiced all night. It wasn't the champion's pedestal that he'd envisioned, but the stadium tunnel was just as good of a backdrop. 

"Alright Rotom! Make sure to get my good side!"

_Click_

**Author's Note:**

> My phone is named Donut


End file.
